Every Last Secret

by A. R. Torre

  “We’ll be able to confirm the exact culprit soon. But that’s the most common.” The doctor looked at me. “Do you want me to call the police? They could go to the Ryders’ and test the food there.”

  “No.” I shook my head, thinking of the dropped bottle of liqueur, any evidence lost. “We’ll figure this out on our end. Thank you for your discretion.”

  The doctor left, and William sank into the chair beside my bed. “What do you think happened? Is there any chance you—”

  “Accidentally drank antifreeze?” I choked out a laugh, then winced at the pain it created in my sore abs. “No. But I also don’t want to accuse Neena and Matt of anything. I mean, Matt drank the limoncello, also. Not a lot of it, but a sip or two. He seems to be okay.”

  “You had a lot more than a sip or two of it,” William said carefully. “The doctor said it tastes sweet. Do you think some could have been in it?”

  “Honestly?” I sighed. “I don’t know. But William . . . if the limoncello had antifreeze in it—how? Who?”

  His hand tightened on mine. From outside in the hall, I heard Neena’s voice.

  I closed my eyes and tried to shift on the hospital cot, rasping out a cry of pain at the motion. “I can’t deal with Neena right now. Could you make some excuses for me? Get them both out of here?”

  “Of course.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Give me a few minutes.” He squeezed my hand and stood, moving quietly out of the room, the door pulled tight behind him. I heard the muffled sound of his voice, then Neena’s and Matt’s.

  I wanted her out of here and far away from me. I remembered her arguing that I was fine, telling my husband to have me sleep it off. If I had, I could have died. Was Matt okay? Did he have any symptoms?

  Her voice rang out again, and I fisted the sheet, straining to hear what they were saying. William’s voice grew louder, and when the door to the room creaked open, I turned my head and met his eyes.

  “They’re leaving now.”

  “Thank you.” I relaxed back against the bed. “How long before I can go home?”

  “I’m having a private doctor sent to the house. We can leave anytime, but I’d like the ambulance to take you home, just so they can continue the fluids and monitor you during the ride.”

  “Have them prepare the guest suite for the doctor—”

  “The house staff is already working on it. Don’t worry about any of that. Just get better.” He looked down at me, his face tight with worry. “God, Cat. If I ever lost you . . .”

  “You won’t,” I swore, and closed my eyes, comforted by the grip of his hand on mine.

  CHAPTER 35

  NEENA

  I stared out the window as Matt pulled the car out of the visitors’ lot. The seat belt cut into my stomach, and I knew I should hit the treadmill before bed and burn off the extra thousand calories our little get-together had caused. The bruschetta had been a mistake. I hadn’t been able to stop myself from taking one after another, the blue cheese–topped calorie bombs barely helping my nerves as Cat had downed glass after glass of the expensive limoncello. William hadn’t even looked at me in the hospital. He’d dismissed me as if I were one of his employees, as if we hadn’t shared a dozen special moments, a unique bond, a sexual history. Pulling at the waist of the seat belt, I stewed over the brush-off.

  Matt put on the blinker too early, and the tick-tick-tick filled the car. I listened to the maddening sound for a half minute, then reached over and flipped it off. “There’s no one around,” I said tersely. “Just turn.”

  He turned, and I stared out the window, watching as a runner stopped at the intersection, jogging in place. I should have run this morning. I’d been so stressed over everything with tonight that I’d skipped it. “I should have just stayed home. I could have cleaned up the mess. Now her vomit is going to be caked on.”

  Honestly, with the staff that Cat had, she really should have sent over someone to help. I didn’t have the money or inclination to bring in a professional crew just to clean up her mess.

  “I don’t think you’re understanding what has happened.” Matt spoke slowly, as if I were mentally handicapped. “William said that Cat ingested something that made her sick. That she was poisoned.”

  “Oh, please,” I sputtered. “Poisoned? Matt, you don’t believe that. That’s Cat being dramatic.”

  “You saw her. She looked terrible. She threw up everywhere.”

  “So, someone poisoned Cat? Who? Why?”

  “I think William thinks that we did,” Matt said quietly.

  I flinched. “He doesn’t think that. Maybe she thinks that, but he doesn’t. He’d never think that of—of us.” I almost said me but caught the pronoun just in time.

  “You act like it doesn’t matter if Cat thinks that!” My passive husband exploded, and I was reminded of the fact that—beneath his very sweet and calm exterior—there did lie a killer. “That is a big issue, Neena. A huge issue.”

  He suddenly gripped the steering wheel, his face tightening. “Oh my gosh. I think I’m going to be sick.” He retched, and I glared at him.

  “Don’t you dare throw up in here. You shouldn’t even be driving. You’ve been drinking all day.” Between him and Cat, I might as well put vomit patrol on my forehead. “And I don’t know why you drank the limoncello. You hate limoncello.” Fresh anger burned at the thought of her cozied next to his side, her hand on his arm, my guileless husband’s mouth on her drink.

  “Do you have anything for me to throw up in?”

  “Are you serious? Pull over, I’ll drive.”

  He yanked the wheel unnecessarily hard to the right, and I opened the door in time to hear him retch.

  I stomped around the front of the car and glared at him, waiting as he emptied his stomach into the thick grass. “Done?”

  He didn’t respond, just straightened and walked around to the passenger side. Stepping over a pathetically small pool of vomit, I moved the seat forward and fastened my belt.

  “I need to know if you put anything in that liqueur.” Matt closed the door with his good arm, the motion awkward around the cast.

  “I didn’t put anything in it.” I yanked the car into drive and flipped the headlights on.

  “Neena.”

  I hated when he said my name like that. As if he knew everything and I knew nothing.

  “I didn’t,” I insisted.

  “If you did, and the police find out—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I won’t protect you. This isn’t like before. What I did . . . I can’t go down that path again. It just about killed me.”

  I pulled out into the street and accelerated past a minivan. “I didn’t do it,” I repeated, my voice softening.

  He said nothing, and inside the stuffy car, the distrust between us grew.

  CHAPTER 36

  CAT

  Two days later, I spotted Matt easily, his fluorescent-orange cast standing out in the brightly lit hospital lobby. “Hey!” I smiled warmly at him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting my cast off.” He lifted the bulky appendage. “I’ve been counting down the days. You?”

  “Oh, just a follow-up on my stomach. I’m actually on my way out. Is Neena with you?” I kept my face blank, as if I didn’t know about the all-employee meeting going on in the WT offices, one that would tie up his wife for at least two hours. I’d spent the entire morning hanging around the hospital lobby, waiting for this moment to catch him alone. While I did have a follow-up appointment on the books, it wasn’t for another two days. In the meantime, I needed to share something with him. Something important.

  “Nah, she’s working. Are you feeling better? You look good.” He froze, a look of panic crossing his face. “I mean, you look healthy. Better. Less sick.” Poor guy. Neena probably had a noose around his neck that automatically tightened whenever she sniffed out flirtation.

  I smiled to put him at ease. “I’m feeling much better, thank you for
asking. Plus, I’ve lost six pounds, so”—I shrugged—“that’s great news. I should drink limoncello every day.”

  “Yeah.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You know, I don’t know how anything got into that drink, but we’ve called the company, and they’re testing the facility to see if there’s any contamination—”

  “Oh, I know you guys didn’t have anything to do with it. Did you feel okay after that sip or two you took?”

  “Actually, I threw up, too.” His chubby cheeks tinted pink. “On the way home from the hospital. But I’m fine now.”

  “I am wondering if we’re all jinxed. You know, they say trouble comes in threes. With the limoncello and your fall . . . I just hope there isn’t anything else. I was thinking about that railing last night. Did you guys ever research it further?”

  As if on cue, his face turned blank. “Research what?”

  “The railing on your upper balcony. The one off your bedroom. Didn’t Neena tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Well, most of the bracing for the railing was tight and secure.” I let out a short, awkward laugh. “Overly secure. It wasn’t going anywhere. But on the far end, by where you fell, there was only a single screw holding the railing in place, and a pretty loose one at that.”

  He frowned.

  “And it was odd, because the posts had the holes in them, as if there were screws at one time, but they were all missing. I found that strange, so I told Neena about it. She told me to throw away the damaged items and that she’d show them to you later, before they were picked up by trash collection.” I peered at him. “You did see them, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. Of course. I forgot.” He hit the side of his head lightly with his palm. “I’ve gotten so absentminded lately.”

  “Well, you’ve been working so hard. I thought you’d slow down with the broken arm, but I see you heading out to work almost every day. You should give your body a chance to heal. Maybe take a vacation. You know, we have a house in Hawaii. You guys should head over there for a week and have a romantic getaway. Relax on the beach and enjoy the last bits of summer.”

  He sagged a little in place. “You’re so wonderful. And you’re right. I’m working too much. It’s just, with this big house, we’re a little stressed over the costs. Atherton is expensive.” His face tightened. “Though, don’t tell Neena I said that. She wouldn’t—”

  “No worries. Stays between us.” I gave his good forearm an affectionate pat. “Now, go get that cast off. I’m sure your arm is dying for a good scratch.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted the cast in parting.

  “And be careful,” I added, almost as an afterthought. “No more falls off high buildings.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I’m drinking my coffee inside now.”

  I waved and watched as he made his way to the sign-in desk. He was a good liar, but I knew the truth.

  Neena had never told him about the missing screws. She couldn’t have.

  CHAPTER 37

  NEENA

  When I got home from work, my husband was standing on the balcony, his cast arm pale and scrawny. He was staring down at the rudimentary balcony rail that William had constructed for us. The new ironwork would take months to arrive, but I had to say that I liked the temporary solution. I had really enjoyed the view of him putting it together, his shirt slightly sticking to his build as he had lifted boards and hammered things into place.

  I opened the french door and joined him on the balcony. “What are you doing?”

  Matt didn’t turn, his attention still on the railing post. “Why didn’t you tell me that the railing was missing screws?”

  “What?”

  “When I fell, someone had removed almost all the screws from this post. It’s why the railing gave way so easily.”

  “Someone removed all the screws? What are you talking about? That railing has always been a little wobbly.”

  “Yeah, a little.” He turned to me, and I flinched at the suspicious look on his face. “But the day I fell, it gave way almost immediately.”

  “So it loosened up. Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Cat told you that screws were missing from the post. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “She didn’t tell me that,” I said, straightening up with indignation.

  “So, you didn’t tell her to throw away the broken railings?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t remember what I told her, but I know she didn’t mention missing screws—are you listening to yourself? Missing screws, someone poisoning Cat?” I gave a hard laugh. “You’re paranoid.”

  “I’m not sure I am.” He moved past me and into the house, his shoulder knocking against me in the process.

  A stab of fear hit me, one I hadn’t felt in years. “Matt.” I hurried after him. “Matt. Where are you going?”

  “To the office. I need to check on some things.” He jogged down the winding staircase, his boots loud on the stairs.

  “Wait.” I caught him just before the back door and wrapped my arms around him. “Matt.” I pulled him around to face me and pressed my body against his, my hands stealing around his neck, my mouth sweet and eager on his lips. He was slow to respond, but he softened, his hands finding my waist, his mouth responding to my kiss. I considered initiating sex but discarded the idea, my energy not up for the laborious task. Instead, I curled into his chest. “I love you,” I whispered.

  He returned the sentiment gruffly, his hand sweeping over the back of my head, and I felt, in the sigh of his embrace, the buying of a little more time. But how much? I squeezed him tightly and recalculated things in my mind.

  CHAPTER 38

  HIM

  It was amazing how useless security guard gates were if you were on foot, dressed in black, at night. All it had taken was one distraction, a car pulling up to the pair of officers, and he had scaled the low part of the wall undetected, shielded by a large willow tree. A half mile later, past ridiculous homes and million-dollar landscaping packages, he was moving down the driveway and settling into a dark corner of the yard.

  There, he waited. Hours passed. The chorus of crickets and frogs came. Lights in the house extinguished, room by room. Once everything was dark, he waited another hour and a half, then stood, pulling on gloves.

  He unlocked the back door and moved in quietly, blue surgical booties already pulled over his shoes, his steps silent on the wood floors. He headed for the staircase and kept to the far side, avoiding weak spots that might make noise. Above him, like the lull of a pied piper, a man snored.

  His instructions had been clear, and he followed them to the letter. The master bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door ajar. The pale light of a television flickered through the crack. His heartbeat increased, and he removed the small handgun from the clip on his belt and held the weapon in front of him like a sword. Pushing gently on the door, he eased it open and paused, taking in the scene.

  There were two humps in the bed, one large and snoring, one silent and small. On the television, an infomercial about a treadmill played. He stepped sideways, moving around the giant king bed until the man’s face came into view. Chubby. Mouth open. Eyes closed. Features slack. He looked as if he were already dead, the illusion marred by the guttural wheezes that eased out of him. Moving closer, he carefully worked the barrel of the pistol into the man’s mouth.

  Brown eyes flipped open, his lips tightening on the cool barrel of the gun before gaping back open. The intruder carefully flipped off the safety with his thumb. As the prone man’s eyes pleaded with him for mercy, he let out a slow breath and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 39

  NEENA

  The police came in silently, their sirens off, three cars in total. From my perch at the window, I watched them pull up to our house, the knot of unease growing in my stomach. This was bad. I didn’t even know what had gone wrong, but this was bad. I followed Matt as he opened the front door, meeting
them as they came up the wide brick steps.

  “Mr. Ryder?” A female detective flashed her shield, then introduced the other uniforms, all in the standard black garb of the town police department. “I’m Detective Cullen. You said on the phone that the intruder has left?” She had a thick New York accent and the aggressive posture to match it.

  “Yes.” Matt straightened to his full and unimpressive height of five feet nine inches. “I heard him leave through the front, and I searched the house. He’s not here.”

  She looked down at the stoop. “He left through here?”

  My husband nodded, not realizing the issue of three officers trampling through the exit. “Yeah.”

  “Dammit,” she swore. “Donnie, get back. All of you, get back and watch where you’re stepping. We just screwed ourselves in terms of footprints.”

  I hung back in the warmth of the house, the night chill trickling through the open doorway, and watched as the cops attempted to maneuver inside without damaging evidence. “I’ll open the side door. You can come in through there.”

  “Thank you.” The woman lifted her flashlight, shining it in my face. “You Mrs. Ryder?”

  “Dr. Ryder,” I clipped back, holding up my hand to block the flashlight’s glare. “Do you mind?”

  “No problem.” She clicked off the lamp and gave me a hard smile. “We’ll meet you around the side.”

  I leaned against the left side of the house, my hands tucked into the pockets of my robe, and felt like a criminal. The scene was eerily familiar. Suspicious looks. Probing questions. Before, they’d only done a brief glance through the house, then ushered me into the back of a police car. Before, I’d been given a series of gentle questions paired with sympathetic looks. Now, I was being drilled. An army of uniforms was moving into my house. Matt and I were being kept outside and questioned as if we were suspects.

  The detective pointed down the dark stretch of our driveway. “Your front gate out there—does that fence go all the way around the property?”